by Roy Choi
The stop in action was the dealer waiting for my family to make a move. The whole room paused.
I resisted, tried to shake off my dad’s hand. It stayed on me like a suction cup. I struggled. I had to finish my hand. I had $14. “Just let me finish the hand . . .”
No.
“Dad, please . . .”
No.
They plunged into the frozen waters and grabbed me with every bit of their might, their souls. The pain in their eyes ran so deep, I couldn’t see where it ended.
I stopped resisting. Surrendered. Let them drag me out. For all my big beanbag balls and high fancy rolls, I was still a boy who needed his parents and friends to pull him out of a very, very dark place.
It was over.
As they took me away, someone hit play, and the room resumed its murmur, its click-clack of stacking chips, its squeaky wheels. Even then, I couldn’t help looking back and seeing the ghost of my body still at the table, head down. $14 in chips. That empty, unfinished hand.
It was daytime out. The sunlight pierced my eyes as my parents walked me to their car and put me in the backseat. The door shut. Silence. Engine, gas, head back, eyes closed, asleep.
And I woke up to a new life.
I was very lucky, man.
PORK FRIED RICE
* * *
When I think about pork fried rice, I think about time in slow-mo. But to most people, everything about pork fried rice is quick and fast. A hundred-meter dash in nine seconds fast. But before that starter gun can fire its blank, you have to prep for the race. For pork fried rice, you need day-old rice; leftovers from last night’s meal; and cured, smoked, glazed char siu pork cooked for hours in a hot box. The flaming wok is that nine-second dash. The char siu pork belly here is done with a Korean kid’s twist to fit your home oven.
At the casinos, this was my go-to dish, served on medium-size oval plates, their edges decorated with Chinese pagodas, a mound of steaming, pale white rice studded with bits of pork, slippery egg, minced vegetables, and soy sauce in the center.
Eat this with a big, frosty glass of Coke, some chili garlic sauce, chopsticks, and a cheap-ass wide-mouth stainless-steel spoon. If you have any leftover pork belly, mix it into a salad—it’ll be delicious.
SERVES 4 TO 6
2 pounds pork belly, skin off
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
MARINADE
1 cup kochujang
¼ cup fresh orange juice
5 garlic cloves, peeled
1 jalapeño pepper, chopped
¼ onion, chopped
¼ cup chopped scallions
FOR THE WOK OR FRY PAN
¼ cup canola oil
2 tablespoons minced peeled fresh ginger
2 tablespoons minced garlic
2 tablespoons minced scallions
¼ cup chopped leftover cooked vegetables—anything you got, man
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 cups day-old cooked rice
3 eggs, whisked
2 tablespoons Asian sesame oil
¼ cup soy sauce
GARNISH
½ teaspoon minced scallion greens
Season the pork belly on both sides with salt and pepper. Place on a rack set on a sheet pan and put it next to the fan in your refrigerator or somewhere cool and let it rest for 3 hours.
Meanwhile, make the marinade. Combine all the ingredients in a blender or food processor and blend until smooth.
Preheat the oven to 200°F. Take out the pork belly and slather with the marinade, barbershop style.
Place the pan in the oven and cook for 3 hours, then turn the temperature up to 450°F and roast for another 30 minutes.
Pull out the pork and let it cool for 1 hour.
Meanwhile, do all your knife work for the vegetables that will go into the wok. Pay attention and take some time to make it right—it ain’t that much knife work, and don’t act like it’s this major fucking deal to mince some veggies.
Chop up the cooled pork into bite-size pieces.
Now organize yourself.
Then heat up a big pan or a wok until smoking over high heat. Add the canola oil and start with the GGS—ginger garlic scallion—and fry them all at once until they’re aromatic, about a minute. Immediately add the rest of the vegetables and season with a touch, just a touch, of salt and pepper.
Work this muthafucka in and out for 30 seconds, being sure to constantly keep the vegetables moving.
Add the pork, toss toss toss; then add the rice. Pound down the rice with a wooden spoon, stir it up, and make this come together.
Fold in the eggs, sesame oil, and soy sauce. Turn off the heat and mix well.
NINE SECONDS,
GOLD MEDAL IN
THE 100-METER DASH.
ENJOY IN FRONT
OF THE TV WITH
A BIG, FROSTY SODA.
MY MILK SHAKE
* * *
If I’m anal-retentive about anything, it’s milk shakes. I’ve been making milk shakes since I was a kid in my family’s apartment kitchens, using our green Oster blender with the color-coded Chiclet-shaped buttons. Funny thing—my mom used to use that blender for pureeing kimchi marinade . . . ha! Back then, my family used to go to Bob’s Big Boy and Carnation on Wilshire Boulevard after the movies and get strawberry shakes. In high school, I visited every burger stand from Inglewood to Anaheim searching for the perfect banana milk shake, full of chunks of banana and the sweet creamy magic of life.
When I moved to Stateline, California, to work at the nearby Embassy Suites, I would hop the California-Nevada border late at night and hit the twenty-four-hour coffee shops in the casinos, just for a milk shake. I couldn’t wait for that frosty metal tin and dripping fluted glass. With a long spoon in hand and pounds of maraschino cherries in my stomach, I’d drink it up.
SERVES 4 TO 6
3 cups premium vanilla ice cream
1 banana, chopped
1 cup shaved ice, made by putting ice cubes in a resealable storage bag and crushing them with a can of soup or any other heavy object
3 tablespoons sugar
Microscopic pinch of Maldon sea salt
2 cups whole milk
Frosted Flakes, crushed, and caramel sauce (optional) for garnish
Pack the ice cream down into a blender. Add the banana, ice, sugar, and salt. Pour 1 cup of the milk over the top.
Cover and blend everything until it’s nice and creamy. With the blender still going, open the top and gently add more milk until the shake gets to your desired thickness. Mine is thick but viscous and drinkable with the ice shavings as a backdrop.
Pour the milk shake into a frozen glass and garnish with crushed Frosted Flakes and a drizzle of caramel, if you wish.
POST THIS NOTE:
PUT EVERYTHING IN THE FREEZER TO KEEP IT ICE-COLD, INCLUDING THE BLENDER, BLENDER TOP, AND THE BLADES, THE MILK, AND THE GLASS.
I USUALLY GAIN
A FEW POUNDS,
’CAUSE I CAN’T STOP. . . .
KALBI PLATE
* * *
Sometimes sitting tableside with my cards, I’d order a plate of kalbi off the casino menu. They were thin, juicy slices of L.A.–style short ribs, stacked high and crosscut, with the three bones to grab on to like handlebars. Delicately marinated in soy sauce, sugar, garlic, scallions, sesame oil, beef stock, pears, kiwifruit, red wine, and orange juice, these babies were grilled till charred and crusty. They came out of the kitchen a glistening, super deep brown caramel. This is L.A.’s southern comfort, its own version of American BBQ filtered through Korea, which is amazing as anything from Austin to the Carolinas.
SERVES 4 TO 6
MARINADE
1 cup soy sauce
½ onion, cut up
1 kiwifruit, peeled
½ cup garlic cloves, peeled
½ bunch scallions, roughly chopped
½ cup mirin
1 cup fresh orange juice
¼ cup sugar
½ cup Asian sesame oil
2½ tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
4 tablespoons canola oil for the grill
1½ pounds boneless or bone-in short ribs, thinly sliced
ON THE SIDE, IF YOU WANT
Cooked white rice
Macaroni salad
Kimchi
JUST BUY MACARONI SALAD AND KIMCHI FROM THE STORE; THAT’S FINE. OR USE THE KIMCHI YOU MADE ON YOUR OWN.
Combine all the marinade ingredients in a blender and puree.
Pour the pureed marinade over the short ribs and massage it through the meat with pressure and delicious intent. Marinate it, covered, in the refrigerator for at least an hour and up to 2 days.
Meanwhile, cook some white rice. You know how.
Heat up a grill (or a grill plate if indoors) for 5 to 10 minutes. Season the grill with oil. Grill your short ribs until charred, about 4 minutes on each side. When they’re done, they should glisten and have bits of burned but delicious layers.
You can either put everything in a bowl (rice, kimchi, macaroni salad, kalbi) or place each one separately on a paper plate, Hawaii-style, and grub.
SPAGHETTI JUNCTION: THE $4 SPAGHETTI THAT TASTES ALMOST AS GOOD AS THE $24 SPAGHETTI
* * *
I’ve always had this thing for Italians. And in a way they’ve had their thing for me, too. I went to Italy for a little bit after my dark days of gambling and replenished my soul in Genoa, Milan, and Venice. Then, during culinary school, I had the good fortune of hanging with many friends from the Italian neighborhoods Bensonhurst and Sheepshead Bay in Brooklyn, and Howard Beach, Bayside, and Middle Village in Queens, and even in New Brunswick, New Jersey.
Imagine this: a semi-tall Korean kid from L.A. in his mid to late twenties getting weird looks, then immediate hugs from grandmas and mamas. I’d be thrust into the kitchen with “Oh, you go to culinary school with my girl/boy? Let me show you a thing or two.” Then they’d have me cook. This was my icebreaker, ’cause a Korean kid in Howard Beach walking a girl home ain’t that easy, son.
Once I cooked, even in my early days, it was magic. Big fat kisses from grandma as she let me stir the pot of tomatoes.
So here you go, my $4 spaghetti. Tastes almost as good as the $24 one.
SERVES 4 TO 6
SAUCE
¼ pound button mushrooms, whole
¾ cup garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 28-ounce cans of whole peeled tomatoes
Salt and pepper
THE REST (AMOUNTS UP TO YOU . . . )
Spaghetti
Fresh basil, torn
Parmigiano-Reggiano
After a quick brushing off of any dirt, put the mushrooms in a large pot and cover them with about 3 cups of water. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat to a simmer. Strain the mushroom stock after about an hour and a half and reserve.
Meanwhile, combine the garlic and olive oil in a small saucepan and cook over the lowest flame possible, low and slow, for about 2 hours, stirring periodically until the garlic is a dark golden brown.
When the garlic is done, add the tomatoes along with all of their juice to another large pot. Bring the tomatoes to a boil, then add the garlic confit to the pot, including the oil.
Add the mushroom stock to the tomato-garlic mixture, one gallon at first, and blend with a stick blender. You are looking for a smooth consistency. Add more stock if necessary. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Turn down the heat to the lowest flame and cook for about 2 hours, stirring the sauce periodically. Check for flavor and adjust the salt and pepper if necessary.
Heat up a big pot of water, add ½ teaspoon of salt and a touch of olive oil, and bring it to a boil. Cook the spaghetti just until it’s al dente, about 8 to 10 minutes.
Drain and divide the spaghetti among all the bowls. Toss immediately with the sauce—about a cup of sauce for each bowl of spaghetti. Garnish with the basil and Parmigiano-Reggiano.
GRANDMAS WILL
KISS YOU, TOO.
CASINO PRIME RIB
* * *
From my dad working at Lawry’s to going out for fancy dinners with the parents as a kid to having a plate while ballin’ as a gambler, prime rib seems to have followed me through my life. When it’s done quickly, though, just for the sake of saying “prime rib,” the dish can be a waste of an animal and its soul. But when it’s done right—thoroughly seasoned and cooked with patience over a low, low heat—it can be one of the wonders of cooking. I hope this one, served with au jus and dip, is more on the wondrous side.
SERVES 4 TO 6
A whole or half rib-eye (bone-in is great if you are feeling ambitious)
Aluminum foil
Racked pan
SEASONING SPICES
2 tablespoons coarse ground black pepper
2 tablespoons dried rosemary
2 tablespoons dried thyme
2 tablespoons garlic powder
2 tablespoons paprika
2 tablespoons kosher salt
2 tablespoons dried sage
2 tablespoons dried basil
2 tablespoons dried fennel pollen, if available
AU JUS
2 tablespoons beef base
2 cups water
Note: You’ll need a meat thermometer to make sure the rib-eye is as rare as it should be.
Preheat the oven to 300°F.
To make the seasoning, mix together all of the spices in a bowl.
Liberally cover the rib-eye all over with the seasoning mix, patting it into the meat as much as you can.
Place the rib-eye on a racked pan and cover it with aluminum foil. Place the rib-eye in the oven and roast it gently for about 2½ hours if it’s a whole one and 1½ hours if it’s a half. You’ll know when it’s done by checking the internal temperature—you want it to read rare, about 115°F.
When it’s rare, remove the aluminum foil and continue to roast it, uncovered, for about 30 more minutes until it is just under medium rare, about 125°F.
Take the rib-eye out of the oven and let it rest for about 30 minutes before slicing. While it rests, make your au jus and the dip.
To make the au jus, combine the beef base and water in a small pot over high heat. Bring it to a boil and turn off the flame. You can also use the veal stock; just use the strained stock, but don’t reduce it to a demiglace, and season it with salt and pepper.
For the dip, use the “Dip” part of the Chips and Dip recipe.
SLICE, DIP, MMMM.
PULL OUT SOME BREAD
TO MAKE A SANDWICH
IF YOU WANT, OR
JUST CHOW DOWN
ON THE MEAT AND DIP.
PHO FOR DEM HOS
* * *
If you’re at a gambling table, nothing is better than a bowl of pho. I don’t know if it’s the fact that you’re nervous, that you’ve been sitting for hours, that endorphins are bouncing around inside you, that your soul is being emptied, dripping and dripping away . . . but eating a hot bowl of pho, tableside, cards in one hand, chopsticks in the other—well, it’s the most delicious food you can eat right at that moment. It’ll help you shed any feelings of insecurity and grow you the pair you need to take on your opponents.
Eat fast and ferocious. Snorting helps.
SERVES AT LEAST 6
THE BROTH
10 pounds beef bones, rinsed and soaked in cold water for 2 hours, then drained
2 onions, unpeeled, halved
1 bunch scallions
2 big stalks fresh ginger, unpeeled
2 cups garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup star anise
½ cup coriander seeds
½ cup black peppercorns
1 cup beef base
1 big heavy handful of cilantro stems, leaves reserved for garnish
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
THE REST (AMOUNTS UP TO YOU)
Rice noodles, prepared according to packa
ge directions
Onion, thinly sliced
Scallion, minced
Fresh Thai basil leaves
Limes, cut in half
Bean sprouts, washed
Sriracha
Hoisin sauce
Fresh cilantro leaves
Rare filet mignon, sliced
Put the beef bones in a big pot and add enough water to cover the bones. There should be at least 3 gallons of liquid in the pot.
On a grill or in a sauté pan over medium heat, char the onions, scallions, and ginger, using little to no oil, until they’re blackened but not burned.
Heat the pot with the bones over medium-high heat, then add the charred vegetables, garlic, star anise, coriander, peppercorns, beef base, cilantro stems, and some salt and pepper. Bring to a full boil, then lower the heat to simmer. Let simmer for 3 hours, constantly skimming foam off the surface.
Check for flavor, adjust the seasonings, and drain the broth through a large sieve, discarding the solids. You can keep this broth in your refrigerator for 2 days or freeze it for the future.
To assemble the pho, place the rice noodles in a bowl. The noodles should be soft and at a tepid temperature. Pour the hot broth over the noodles and garnish as you please. If you wanna do like me, then add everything to the bowl.
EAT WITH FRIENDS,
SHOES OFF, ONE FOOT
ON THE CHAIR, KNEE UP,
SLURPING LIKE YOU DON’T
CARE ABOUT EMILY POST.
CHAPTER 8
EMERIL
When we left the Bicycle Club, it was light outside. I fell asleep in the car and woke up from an Avatar dream and into the detox of infinite Korean love.
There were no words for this detox. My parents and I didn’t talk about what had happened. Sometimes, in Asian culture, it is all about the words—the stress and the lectures and the discipline and the heightened expectations. The constant nagging, the torture of never being good enough.